Red Rag Top
by madame.alexandra
Summary: The summer Shannon and Gibbs meet is one of those fairytale things, until it isn't anymore. A Shannon & Gibbs take on the Tim McGraw song, with a much happier ending.


_a/n: so, this is just something i wrote to go along with the Tim McGraw song ' Red Rag Top' - obviously. If you know the song, you know what the story's about. if not, you'll see. it's a lovely song (not something you'd expect from a country artist, honestly). to me, this is a 'what-if' scenario dealing with Shannon and Gibbs that explores why, if they met in 1976 like the episode 'Heartland' suggests, they didn't marry until 1982 (6 years is a long time, for Gibbs, I think). that being said, I really moved around a lot of time-lines and took creative license ... like Gibbs' age I messed with a little, and I made up where he was stationed and whatnot, so. _

_! _

* * *

_- summer, 1976. -_

* * *

That girl was sitting next to him, that redhead he hadn't had the courage to talk to all summer—sitting next to _him_, on a long bus ride to wherever she was going. She held her bag in her lap and her hair fell neatly over her shoulders, held off of her forehead by a knit headband. He could see her very blue eyes perfectly when she looked over at him, bit her lip, and said:

"Are you going to talk, or are you just going to look at me the whole ride?"

He blinked, and looked down quickly. He tentatively looked back up, and she was beaming at him, her lip still held delicately between her teeth. He smiled back slowly, his chest tightening nervously.

"I'll say anything you want," he said seriously.

She laughed – a little tilt of her head, a wrinkle of her nose, and flutter of her lashes.

"You're very accommodating," she stated, and then her eyes crinkled in an attractive way that made his heart nearly stop.

He knew he should say something. He couldn't ask her to sit with him, and then be too star struck to speak. He cleared his throat, hoping something would happen – and he blurted –

"Where are you going?"

Her tongue flicked between her teeth and she tilted her head at him.

"Same place you are," she said smartly, and settled back against her seat, and he could have kicked himself – _obviously_; that's why they were waiting for the same bus, at the same time. She didn't fault him for it, though. "North Carolina," she said lightly. "You just finished basic training. Are you going to a base?"

He looked at her curiously, a slight smirk on his lips. He held his hat in his lap and clutched it firmly, deciding if he should ask how she knew that. She seemed to sense his question, and she pushed her hair behind an ear.

"My aunt told me," she said, in a conspiratorial whisper. "Small town gossip. You left town after you graduated, without telling your father? Came back a Marine." Her words were so straight, so unloaded, but so factual – and her eyes were big, thoughtfully. "That must be a story."

He shrugged – he should have known it would be whispered in every ear around Stillwater – old man Gibbs' son high-tailed it out and came back for a split-second, to come home once before he never came home again. Gibbs looked at the girl sitting next to him now and he thought – no matter how badly the reunion with his father had gone, it might have been just his luck to go back to Stillwater.

But – he didn't want to talk about Jackson.

"Your aunt?" he asked neutrally.

She nodded simply.

"She owns the shop where all the Stillwater girls buy their prom dresses," she – Shannon, her name was Shannon, he knew that now – said. She laughed a little, and licked her lips. "Did you take a girl in one of her dresses to prom?" she asked playfully.

Gibbs smiled wryly.

"Might've gone, if you'd been around then," he said – it was the first smooth thing he'd said since she started talking to him, and he was pleased with it – especially when her brows went up, and her cheeks coloured a little.

She stared at him a moment, and then her eyes went soft and light, and she smiled very genuinely.

"You're charming," she complimented warmly.

She looked down at her fingernails, picking at chipped polish for a moment, and then she tilted her head back comfortably, and began to talk lightly – conversationally, and honestly. The bus moved on and on, winding through the calm countryside of Pennsylvania – and he listened, and he learned –

She was eighteen. She'd graduated high school in June, and come out to spend the summer with her aunt – she was going to college, but she wasn't starting until spring; she wanted to save money first - because her mother didn't like the school she'd chosen, so she decided to stick it to her and pay for it. She had scholarships; she was smart. She was born in Virginia, and raised in North Carolina – those places were as far north as her southern-money parents would go.

She wanted to be a veterinarian, but she didn't know if she could put animals down, so she was settling for psychology for the time being. She made up rules for life as she went – he'd already learned one, of course, and thanked God he wasn't a lumberjack – she was going to be living at home while she worked to save for college next semester –

He liked all of that about her: the casual way she talked, the calm but very confident manner she had about herself – and that's probably why it was so easy for him to tell her that he'd left Stillwater like he had because he hadn't wanted to get stuck there, and he knew he would if he found some girl and got hitched in that lukewarm small town way – he didn't see eye to eye with his father, he'd never stopped missing his mother, and he wanted to prove he was more than old man Gibbs' stubborn son.

Her large, thoughtful blue eyes never left his when he spoke, and she never once said those dumb things people always said to him about regretting what he'd done – then she fell asleep on his shoulder, and then hours and hours later they were in North Carolina, and it felt like days had passed – or maybe only seconds – and he had his rucksack slung over his shoulder and his eye cast around for her people.

"Don't you have another bus to catch?" she asked sweetly, glancing at him wryly.

He shrugged.

"Don't mind missin' it," he admitted. He looked around again. "Got to make sure you get where you're goin' safe."

"Look at that," she drawled. "A southern gent from Pennsylvania."

"Not southern," he protested. He shrugged again. "Decent."

She licked her lips.

"I like that," she said earnestly. "_Decent_," she repeated – like she'd never thought that someone would just be decent to be so.

It was sunny, and there were people around them, and she looked up, all her long hair falling down her back like a waterfall of red sun. She parted her lips, and seemed to think.

"Wilmington isn't _so_ far from Camp Lejeune," she began slowly – and she must have saw what she wanted to in the way his eyes caught hers hopefully, and his jaw tightened in slight anticipation.

"I don't have a car," he said in a pained voice.

Her face lit up brilliantly.

"I have one," she said – she saved the day. She gave him a look through her lashes and bit her tongue. "You be on the look out for me, Gibbs," she suggested.

She turned on her heel – he noticed her heading towards a car where a sharp, stern looking woman stood, tapping her heel – arms crossed – and he called her name.

She stopped.

"What kind of car am I lookin' for?" he asked smartly.

She threw him a wink.

"It's red – it's got a rag top."

* * *

It was two weeks to the day he'd stepped off the bus at Camp Lejeune when he heard there was someone looking for him at the gates – she had ID, but she wasn't military, and she was persistent in a calm, cute way that resulted in one of the gate security officers radioing for someone to get that Gibbs kid out to the front.

He brushed off the ribbing of his bunk mates and made his way to the gates – and there she stood, leaning against a fire engine red convertible with a beige rag top, her lips twisted in a patient, laid back smile. She had – the same purple dress on, complete with thick headband, but her hair was curled at the edges this time.

He put his hands in his pockets and strolled over, stepping between her and the military security, glancing down at the red car – the sunlight reflected off of it and made her hair seem brighter – and then at her, and raised an eyebrow.

Her lips turned up a little more.

"I told you to be on the look out," she remarked.

"You came lookin' for me," he pointed out smartly.

She laughed, her lashes shielding her eyes briefly, and then she threw a short peek at the guards before moving closer and scuffing her foot in the dirt.

"I know what I want," she said simply, and bit her tongue fetchingly between her teeth. "I couldn't wait around for you, could I?" she snorted good-naturedly. "You'd just stare at me – like you did all summer in Stillwater."

He managed not to look sheepish or abashed. He rested his hand on the door of her little ragtop and ran his hand over the finish, admiring it a moment. He grit his teeth, and met her eyes.

"You sure you're old enough for me?" he asked slyly.

Her lips parted in amusement.

"You're not twenty _yet_," she laughed. "I'll hang around until your birthday in September – and I'll see if you grow up too much then."

He smirked, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ears, lashes fluttering in the sunlight.

"How do you know my birthday?" he asked.

She licked her lips.

"That small town Stillwater gossip," she drawled, and then she slid her leg forward and nudged his boot with her sandal-clad foot, her head tilted up, her eyes meeting his thoughtfully. "I want to hear what you have to say about yourself."

He realized then that she must have been asking about him in Stillwater – asking her aunt, listening to people talk – and that made him crazy in a good way; he may have been looking, but she'd been investigating, and maybe the bus ride to Carolina was fate.

She asked when she could see him, and he told her how his infantry schedule worked – when he was free, when he could wander off base; she told him she worked as a receptionist at her father's office sometimes, and sometimes at an ice cream parlor in Wilmington – but since she had a car, she'd come to meet him in Jacksonville – she lingered while they made small talk that wasn't so small.

She gave him her phone number, and asked him if he liked dogs – she said she had a new puppy – and he listened to her talk, and occasionally responded, if he had something important to add – but mostly, he looked at her, until the MPs at Lejeune got antsy and gave him a shout to move it along – either sign her in, or get her gone, because they had more to do than watch two kids trip over themselves into something like a summer romance.

She giggled at their blustering and stepped back, hopping onto the edge of the car and sitting on the window, just about to twist herself gracefully into the driver's seat without lifting a finger to open the door.

She pursed her lips, and glanced on time at the MPs as if to beg for a moment with him, and then she wrinkled her nose slightly and she leaned forward, and whispered.

"You don't talk much," she noted, "but then, you say a lot – without saying anything at all."

He lifted his shoulders a little in a shrug – she talked plenty, and he was content with that. He leaned forward and took her hand, holding it steady as she twirled into the car and shook her keys. She pulled sunglasses out from a console and slipped them over her blue eyes.

On a daring whim, he kissed the palm of the hand he was holding, and handed it back to her – and she laughed outright.

"You aren't real," she accused.

He gave her a small salute.

"In the flesh," he retorted gallantly.

She disappeared in that red car, and he ignored the ribbing of the MPs watching him – and he looked forward to Saturday night.

* * *

It was like nothing he'd ever thought would happen to him – but then, maybe he just hadn't met the right girl before Shannon. It was the end of summer, when they really met, but it felt like the beginning – and it was still hot and sticky and bright enough outside from dawn to dusk to convince them they had all the time in the world.

He spent his work days on the base excelling, so he'd never have a complaint or have liberty time revoked – so he could meet her for ice cream on weeknights, or maybe a movie – and then dinner on weekends, and long days – like the ones when she brought her dog and sweet-talked Gibbs into helping him train him – and longer evenings that faded into nights – like the ones where he brought a six pack and she brought a cooler and they sat on the back of her car under some stars and were just _with_ each other.

He'd never fallen into something so easy, and she told him she'd never dated a boy she'd actually liked – she'd had two boyfriends, she said, both hand-picked by her mother – the sons of very uptight church women; they'd been nice boys, but Shannon hadn't felt a thing for them – and she laughed and said they were a safety net for her chastity, though her mother never said that explicitly.

"Even church boys try somethin'," Gibbs remarked, and Shannon laughed again, and said one of them was probably gay – and the other was so afraid of hellfire and the hounds of eternity that he'd hardly even met her eyes.

Gibbs had grinned at that – he liked the way she talked – he liked how she filled silences, but not in a boring or inane way; she was always saying something – something smart, or thoughtful, or funny – and he figured out it was because she wasn't ever encouraged to talk much at home – hers was an old-money, proper family, where dinner was a subdued affair, and the daughter of the house was expected to be impeccable, and not vivacious.

But she was vivacious, and Gibbs wanted to embrace that – so one night, she stopped after their first beer, and she tilted her head towards her car, and she said.

"What about you? You want to try somethin'?"

He didn't say anything, he just looked at her to see if she was serious, and then it hit him like a ton a bricks that he hadn't kissed her yet – and here they'd been, running around together for weeks that seemed like eternities, and she must've been thinking he was just an idiot.

He leaned over and kissed her, setting his longneck aside, slipping his hands up her neck and into her hair, pulling her closer, forgetting to start shyly and kissing her to make-up for lost time and she – for all she said about her uneventful high school beaus – kissed back beautifully.

She pulled away, and she said –

"You're not a church boy."

He smirked, and shook his head – and then that was part of what he looked forward to, to, not just the time spent and the words said – but her lips on hers, and then his lips on her neck – and then hands on each other – and from that first kiss, the days together collided more quickly, and the time spent out under the stars, parked off the road, was longer, and they weren't sitting on the car anymore, they were wrapped inside it – ignoring the heat, sweating in it even, and one night he wondered why it was still so damn hot in the middle of September and he realized it was her –

The moon wasn't out that night, and his hand slid higher on her leg until she shifted and wrapped her leg around him, and he had to stop kissing her to ask – because she said she'd never done this before, and he had, and he hesitated, and his hands were almost shaking – and she shook her head and touched his lips and said –

"Please don't stop."

He didn't – and she didn't; he went all the way with her in the back of that little red car, and she said he didn't hurt her and she hated the thought of going home – she stayed later than she ever had, and there was some nervous urgency in the way she dropped him off at base and headed home with dawn breaking – she said she had not curfew, but her mother was making her crazy –

But even that didn't seem to stop her, or him, and he no longer waited for movies or sweet treats or beer or talks – he waited for nights in the back of that convertible, and she did, too, and he got so dizzy with the heady passion of it all and she became so much a part of his life that he forgot she was working – she was going to college in January – so maybe he better say something, and tell her he didn't want this to be over when she left.

He didn't have time, though, because he didn't want to talk or think about that – he wanted to be with her, and he didn't want to stop her when she kissed him and pulled him down to her and snuggled under a light blanket with him as the nights started to get slowly cooler –

And then one day she seemed anxious, and she sat on the back of the car with him, and she twisted her hair into knotted braids until he took her hand and held it, his brow furrowing narrowly. She bit her thumb, and she said, without looking at him –

"My mother wants to have you for dinner," she said.

He was taken aback, but –

"She wants to meet the man I've been running amok with," Shannon murmured. She smiled in a lopsided way. "Her words, not mine."

Gibbs smiled a little. He shrugged.

"S'fine," he said.

Shannon finally looked at him, and he noticed her eyes looked a bit dull – but she brightened a little.

"You don't mind?"

"Got to meet 'er sometime, don't I?" he said – and then he felt cautious – maybe Shannon hadn't ever intended for this to end up that – serious.

Her cheeks flushed, though, and she moved closer to him, wrapping her fingers around his hand as he held it – she squeezed.

"You want to marry me?" she teased, wrinkling her nose.

"I love you," he said, without any thought to it - -the words just spilled out, and then he blinked, startled by his own admission – he'd never said that before, to anyone, not like this, and what if she didn't like it.

Her lips parted, and her hair stuck to her cheeks, whipped by the wind and tangled by the night. Her eyes flickered nervously, and then she smiled, and she pushed her hair back with a shaky hand. He didn't know why – but the words seem to make her feel better, despite whatever had been bothering her tonight – and she pulled her hand from his grasp so she could put her arms around him.

"Gibbs," she murmured into his shoulder, and her lips brushed the thin material of his military green t-shirt, and she took a deep breath.

She told him she thought her mother knew – somehow – that she wasn't pure anymore, and then she laughed in a way that didn't quite sound amused to him – and he joked that he was more concerned about her father, and Shannon made the offhand comment that her father would be the saving grace.

"Can you come for Sunday brunch?" Shannon asked finally, her voice soft and sleepy.

He nodded, and bent to kiss her forehead, running his fingers through her hair.

"Shannon," he murmured in her ear. "You okay?"

She shrugged.

"We'll wait a few days," she said ominously.

She said she didn't feel like driving, and he got to drive the red ragtop to Lejeune before she headed off for the trek to Wilmington.

* * *

He sensed she was tense when she picked him up at Lejeune, but he knew more was bothering her when she stood on the doorstep of the big, white, elegant southern home she'd parked the car in – she stood a little in front of him, like she wanted to hide him from the imposing, impossibly pristine woman who opened the door and glared narrowly and sharply at her daughter and the man with her.

"You've missed cocktails," Shannon's mother remarked coolly, as Shannon stepped in – her hand swung out behind her, and Gibbs took it; his redhead pulled him close next to her, and she stepped back, level with him.

"Mom," she said matter-of-factly. "This is Gibbs."

He held out his hand, but Shannon's mother didn't take it.

"Your name can't be simply Gibbs," she said instead.

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs, ma'am," he said promptly.

She turned up her nose slightly – and the entrance of Shannon's father saved them all. He was a tall, intelligent looking man with Shannon's blue eyes and a thin crop of grey hair that still had auburn in it – and he took Gibbs' hand immediately.

"It's about time, son," he said in a booming voice, his eyes never leaving Gibbs. "In polite society, suitors make an appearance before they sweep a man's daughter off her feet."

Gibbs felt a small nudge in his ribs, and a smile from Shannon told him her father was joking – and he felt at ease with the man.

He introduced himself as Mackenzie Fielding, M.D., but said most people just called him Mack. Her mother was Joanne, and she said she was Mrs. Fielding and nothing less – and when Shannon took him into the dining room, he saw what she meant when she had once said her mother didn't seem to realize the south lost the war – the place was like a step back in time, right down to the old photos of southern ancestors hanging above a fireplace.

Shannon rolled her eyes, squeezed his hand, and took a seat at the table – and it didn't take him long to realize he was going to be the target of questioning, and Shannon was going to remain silent.

She didn't talk much around her mother, but Gibbs noticed – even as Mrs. Fielding was bombarding him – that she seemed a little withdrawn rather than cautiously quiet – she spoke only when her father spoke to her, and she watched Gibbs carefully, but seemed to be thinking when she looked at him. She picked at her feet, rolled her eyes when her mother ordered her to get her elbow off the table, and finally piped up when Mrs. Fielding asked invasively what Gibbs' intentions were for Shannon for the next five years –

"Mother, leave him alone, he's here for brunch, not a betrothal," she snapped.

Gibbs turned in amusement, and he saw Mack lay a calming hand on Shannon's shoulder – when he caught her father's eye, Mack gave him a look that was almost unreadable, and then cleared his throat gruffly.

"Joanne, I think Gibbs and I'll have a bourbon on the sunroom," he said firmly – there was clearly no way to turn him down.

Slightly relieved – but reluctant to leave Shannon to her mother's mercy, Gibbs got up and went, carrying himself like the good Marine he was – and he heard only silence in the other room as Mack poured him a glass handed it to him.

"Don't mind my wife," he said frankly. "She's pathologically concerned our daughter's gotten some dose of," he lowered his voice mockingly, "feminism," he said, "and is on the verge of irreversible ruination."

Gibbs arched his eyebrows slightly. These people were a different type, that was for sure – and he was surprised Shannon wasn't more wild – but as it were, she wasn't at all, really, she just had high-spirits and a very independent head – more than her mother wanted, it seemed.

"I've only got two things to say to you, Gibbs," Mack said frankly, toasting his glass in a matter-of-fact way. "You let Shannon be Shannon, and by god, you take care of my Shannon."

Gibbs toasted his own glass with determination – that, he could do.

"Yes, sir," he said.

Her father was looking at him in that unreadable way again, and then for a split second the man looked miserable – his shoulders drooped a little – but the moment was gone, and then he was clearing his throat.

Gibbs felt a hand on his arm, and when he turned, Shannon was there, keys in her hand. She looked at her father first, though – nodded, and then rested her chin on Gibbs' arm, looking up at him through her thick lashes, her face still tense – but relieved.

"Stars are waiting," she remarked – wondering where their lovers were, no doubt.

He nodded, and glanced at Mack. The man just nodded and waved his hand – go, he seemed to be staying.

"You don't stay out too late, Shannon," he said in a wary voice. "You've got to take this slower."

She didn't answer him, but smiled, and she didn't say goodbye to her mother – Gibbs felt wary about that – he asked if he should say something, and as Shannon was starting the car, she shook her head and let out a breath she'd been holding.

"I can't look at her right now," she said. "I can't let her talk to you. She'd know, just by looking – just by talking," she muttered furiously – and then she shot out of the driveway like a rocket, and she drove and drove – and he realized she was taking him back, all the way to that spot outside Lejeune where they always parked, and she got out so quickly, he was left sitting there, stunned, anxious, and it was long moments of Shannon sitting on the back of the car, and him glued to the passenger seat, and she finally said –

"Jethro?"

She never called him Jethro.

He got out of the car and came around. He leaned on the car next to her and looked at her quietly, watching her watch the stars. She put her hands over her ears lightly, as if to block the world out, and he wondered what had happened, what had he done wrong – was she about to end this? She pushed her hair back and covered her mouth.

She said something. He said he couldn't hear her, and she let her hands fall to her lap limply.

"I said, I'm pregnant," she told him in a hushed voice.

The world seemed to go silent around him – everything stopped: birds, crickets, wind, trees – it all stopped moving, stopped making sound, and he heard only what she said, loud and clear and – impossible. No – not impossible, but – but not right, not now – his mouth went dry and his eyes went wide, almost as wide as hers, and they were looking at each other and he realized –

She hadn't been tense, or irritable, or subdued the past week or so – she'd been terrified, and now, staring at her, he was too.

It was silent for an eternity, and then her lips shook and she closed her eyes.

"Say something," she pleaded, her voice cracking.

She started to cry, and that made him shake himself, made him move some muscles. He climbed up on the car with her and slid his arm around her, tilting his head and trying to look at her – but she just bowed her head and let her hair hide her away.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed.

"It's okay," he said gruffly – he didn't know what else to say, but he didn't think she needed to apologize. "Shannon – "

"No, it's not," she cried softly, her hands flying to wipe her eyes. "I'm not apologizing to you – I, well, I am," she began, and a fresh wave of tears took her. "It's not okay, I don't know what I was thinking except – I was embarrassed to ask Daddy to prescribe something, and I kept forgetting about anything else because … " she stammered, "…I just didn't think it would happen to me," she admitted.

Her hands wiped furiously at her eyes, and he ran his hand through her hair, his heart beating against his chest, slamming against him, hurting. He felt like he couldn't breathe, and finally he just buried his face in her hair and sat there, holding her while she cried.

"I'm so stupid," she cried.

He shook his head, squeezing her arm tightly.

"You're not stupid," he muttered dully. "You're smart," he said, closing his eyes tightly. "You're smart as hell, Shannon," he murmured. "I'm stupid," he growled softly.

"We're so fucking stupid," she moaned hoarsely, turning closer.

She clutched his shirt, and finally – she looked up at him – and they both still had wide, scared, petrified eyes. It was shock he was feeling, he realized – he didn't know what to say – he didn't know what they were going to _do – _and he didn't want to put his foot in his mouth.

Her tears started to dry in front of him, and he leaned forward and kissed the corner of her mouth, pressing his forehead to hers. He suddenly had the awful, sick feeling that she'd told her father already – that had been the look in his eye; Shannon's father knew his daughter was knocked up, and Gibbs had stood there ignorant, probably letting the man think he was a coward –

"Shannon," he murmured huskily his tone urgent. "I can take care of you," he said. "I got a paycheck, and I can get you … healthcare."

Her head moved violently.

"No, no," she said miserably. "This isn't how it's supposed to be. I don't want to end up married like this."

He couldn't help it –

"End up married?" he quoted tensely.

Her words struck him hard, and tears started falling down her cheeks again, and she looked pale.

"That's not what I mean," she said softly, her voice shaking. "It'll never work if we do it like this, Jethro," she moaned.

She leaned into him, and started crying again, and he held her, falling silent. He didn't say the right thing – so he chose to keep silent, and it seemed like forever that she cried – until his shirt was wet, and the stars all seemed to run together in his shocked eyes, and his head pounded and everything seemed to bright and too loud and he wanted to go back, he wanted to just change one thing on every night they'd spent together – a little less action, a little more careful thinking –

He realized she wasn't crying, and he leaned back – she was looking up at him.

"I needed to cry," she whispered.

She got up, and she walked around, left him sitting there – there was something hard about her face now.

"Does your father know?" Gibbs asked finally, his voice hollow.

Shannon nodded. Her eyes closed.

"I had to – he's a doctor, and he … he's not like my mother," she said – her voice started to get hollowed, detached. "It was almost … an accident … I got nervous, and I told him that I was worried about my period being late, like it might be a medical issue and he just … he looked at me like I'd lost my head."

Shannon took a deep breath.

"That's when I knew. But I waited."

He thought she might break again, but she came back to the car, and she sat on top of it, and he found himself thinking – they'd talked about a lot of things, sitting on the hood of this little red car – and they'd done a lot of things, kissing in the back seat of this little red car.

She was silent for a long time, and then when she spoke, her voice was small.

"He said it was in my hands," she whispered. Her eyes closed. "He won't tell my mother."

Gibbs felt the world turn on its side, and he swallowed hard. She bit down on her lip, and when she looked at him, her lip was bleeding.

"I'm not going to keep it," she said.

He felt like he'd been sucker-punched; he felt confused, still shocked – it was too much, too fast – he grit his teeth, and nodded.

"Okay," he whispered.

In a split second, nothing was innocent anymore. He went through the motions at work in a haze – and it was a good thing he hadn't made friends on this base, because they'd have thought he was half-dead – but he'd spent all his free time on Shannon, and now he was trying to fix what had been broken.

* * *

It was a Thursday afternoon when he found himself two hours away from Wilmington and Camp Lejeune, sitting in a parking lot in the red rag top, keys in his hand, Shannon by his side. Her hair was pulled back in a way he'd never seen it – messy on her head – and she wore no make-up. She had on shorts, and a t-shirt, and some light, dusty pink converse, and she was staring down at her nails, at her bare thighs, and the white envelope in her lap.

She took a deep breath.

He rushed to speak before she could.

"You want me to come with you?" he asked.

She shrugged, and then she shook her head. Then, she tilted her chin slightly.

"You can go get me a smoothie," she said in a quiet voice. "Pick me up when it's over."

He swallowed – it seemed absurd, but her father had told him to listen to what she wanted and not question her about it. Her mother was visiting a brother for the next few days – that's why they were here now, so Mrs. Fielding would have less questions, and Shannon would have more quiet. Her father had only known one doctor in the area who did them – even though they were legal now – and he'd called and made sure Shannon would be taken care of – but even then, it was a blessing that Mack had a medical degree, just in case.

"Shannon," he started gruffly. "I'll come with you."

There he was, ignoring her father's recommendation – but he didn't want her to be alone. She had tried to say she would just have her father take her, but Gibbs had almost pleaded – _don't make me the guy who wouldn't be there._

He still was almost unsure this was all real – once he'd been so wrapped up in her and their fling that he thought he was living in a fantasy world; now the sun had set on that, and he wanted out – not away from her, but back into the innocence that used to be.

"Jethro, you're making this hard," she said finally. "Don't."

He lowered his head, loosened his grip on the steering wheel. His throat felt thick, and his chest hurt – he tried to say he was sorry, but nothing came out. He didn't want to make it hard. He wanted to let her know he wasn't mad at her he was just ... scared. He wanted to go with her. She took a deep, shaking breath, and cleared her throat. She got out of the car, clutched the white envelope in her hands to her chest, and her lips trembled.

"Three hundred dollars for murder," she said shortly. "How barbaric is that?"

He didn't have time to say anything, because she was gone – and in the door of the clinic so fast he was still staring in shock. He got out of the car, almost ready to charge after her – but then he couldn't, and he just leaned against it heavily and stared down at the keys in his hand, and then looked over at the shiny red of the convertible.

He knew she was Catholic, knew she had faith even if it wasn't the kind her mother had – he just hadn't thought it was that kind of horrible for her – she hadn't said anything, and if she felt that way, she should have told him, he'd be more sincere, he'd get it together, he'd make sure she knew he wasn't kidding when he said he could make it okay, he could be a father even if he was scared and he wasn't ready yet.

He set his jaw, and got in the car.

She wanted a smoothie, and he wanted to stop thinking – so he did what she asked, while she did what she did – and he drove around aimlessly until it seemed like it had been long enough, and when he got back she was waiting outside, sitting in the sun, looking for a split second like nothing had ever hurt her – and then she looked up and met his eyes.

She got in the car, and took the smoothie. He started to ask what he needed to do for her, but she turned to him and she said –

"I want to go home."

* * *

It was three days later when he saw her again, when she called and asked him to find a way to Wilmington – and he did, and when he got there, her father was quiet but kind, and said it was fine if they went out, but Shannon had to be back early to sleep and be looked after, and they stayed in Wilmington, and he found himself in the same secluded place where she'd first told him they'd made a mistake.

He sat with her on the back of her car in silence, and he tried to get her to talk.

She said she was okay. She said she just felt sick and a little tired and her stomach was hurting. She said she wished she could sleep at the barracks with him instead of at home, because she didn't like how her father was hovering. She had told him she wanted to do what she did after she'd told Gibbs, and he hadn't questioned her. He'd just written a check.

"My mother marched against it, you know," Shannon said softly. "She went all the way to the capitol, when I was fifteen, carrying signs, protesting – calling that woman a whore and a sinner. She doesn't believe in it."

Shannon swallowed. She took a deep breath.

"I don't either," she said. She sounded confused, lost. "But … it was the only thing I wanted to do."

Gibbs nodded. He wouldn't ever understand what she meant really, but he could try – he couldn't imagine having a baby right now, and he'd only be the father – she wanted to go to college, she was working so hard for that, and it had almost seemed easier – the horrible relief he'd felt when she said she wasn't going to keep it hadn't lasted as long as the guilt he felt now – but it had been there, and she must have felt it, too.

"Did it hurt?" he asked hoarsely.

She licked her lips.

"It was uncomfortable," she said vaguely.

She brushed her fingers against her lips and tilted her head back, taking quick, deep breaths.

"What do we do now?" she asked the stars, her voice soft, broken.

She sounded as frustrated and sad as he felt – why did this have to ruin everything?

He leaned over and kissed her shoulder hesitantly.

"We try to forget," he said gruffly.

She shivered, and her head fell forward. For the first time, he saw her face soften a little, and her shoulder shook. She turned to him, her lips pressing against his cheek. He pulled her close, and she stroked his hair; he still felt like he was in shock, and he could feel her pain through her skin.

"Jethro," her voice shook. "Please don't stop loving me," she asked.

He kissed her shoulder again, and shook his head roughly – he _promised_ her.

* * *

Mrs. Fielding came back from her brother's in Virginia, and Mack said Shannon was in the clear medically – and Gibbs went back to work, and she went back to the ice cream parlor – she stopped working for her father when it was all said and done – and then it was November, and it was cold, and he started to realize that no matter how hard they tried, it wasn't the same –

They couldn't get back the rhythm of the summer, or the balmy months as autumn faded in; he was worried about her, worried she was blaming him – and she kept second-guessing herself silently, pulling away, looking at him differently – maybe she was blaming him; blaming him for turning her head, for upsetting her plans – and maybe he blamed her a little bit, for doing what she did instead of marrying him and trying them down – but he didn't really know how he felt, or how she felt, because she stopped talking as much.

He didn't know why she wanted to sit in the cold the weekend before Thanksgiving – she was wrapped up tight, and he was warm in his military uniform – and there they sat on that stubborn old car – the top was up because it was too cold for the interior, and the sky was dark with winter stars – less bright than their summer counterparts.

She said –

"I can't do this anymore."

He bowed his head and looked at his hands. He had seen it coming from a mile away, and it was still worse than he'd prepared himself for. He swallowed, clenching his teeth – he didn't want to lose her.

"It's not about you, Gibbs," she said sincerely, rubbing her nose. She paused a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was unstable. "I need help. I need to be alone while I get it."

He nodded. He didn't understand – but then again, he kept telling himself he never would. He couldn't shake the feeling that this had gone all wrong – that what had started on the bus ride to Carolina wasn't supposed to end in November – it was supposed to last a lifetime, and he just had to figure out how he was going to repair the path they'd veered off of.

She said she was going to stop seeing him. She was going to go to college. She was going to tell her father she'd broken it off with him, so he wouldn't think Gibbs had done her wrong, and she was going to try and fix whatever had broken inside of her. She kept saying it wasn't his fault, and it wasn't – but it didn't matter.

He felt like she stopped loving him that night, but then he'd remembered she'd never said she loved him – and maybe now, she never could.

He took his advice and tried to forget her, and when he couldn't, he let her sit in the corners of his mind in a purple dress and a thick purple headband. He poured himself into work, and started associating with the other Marines, and after a while people stopped mocking him, asking to know what had happened with that Carolina belle he'd shacked up with so fast, and when they stopped asking, he was able to stop wondering.

He realized sometime in the spring that he'd never asked her where she was going to college, and by summer, he was thinking of her less and less – not forgetting her, just getting better at letting her go.

* * *

_- spring, 1980 -_

* * *

It was years later when she was fresh in his mind again – fresh and beautiful, and standing right in front of him – he'd been at Quantico for two years now, and he'd just finished sniper training – it was nineteen-eighty and four years later, and he was headed to the barracks to meet up with another Marine when he saw her in Eastern Market – looking at jewelry.

He had barely looked for a second – he had just stopped and stared for a moment – when she looked up and right at him, and he didn't know what to do, didn't know how she would react – and then to his shock – to his delight, he realized, as she dropped what she was looking at and came over gracefully – she lifted her hand, and she said –

"Gibbs!"

He didn't move, he didn't flinch, he just waited – until she was standing in front of him, four years older, completely different and yet still the same – this time with a green headband and sleek black jeans and a flowy black shirt – and her hair was shorter and curled, with slanted bangs – but her eyes were the same – big, and blue, and thoughtful – and she said –

"Are you going to talk, or are you just going to look at me?"

And in a split second, he was back on a bus to Carolina – and he burst into a smirk and stepped forward. He hugged her before he had really decided to do it, and he closed his eyes with relief when she hugged back tightly – and didn't let go for a moment.

"I'll say anything you want," he said in her ear.

She laughed, and stepped back, and she took a look at him. Her lashes fluttered.

He wanted to ask her what the hell she was doing here – he wanted to beg her not to walk back into his life and walk back out, and he wanted to ask if she was okay, if she'd been fixed – but looking at her said it all – she didn't look pale, or nervous, or sad – she looked better, helped – at peace.

"You still have that car?" he asked – he thought that was a subtle enough way of asking.

"The red rag top?" she asked – more a statement than a question. Her lips moved slightly, and she took a breath. "I got rid of it," she said in a balanced tone, "and I got a lot better."

It must have helped her, to sell that old car – driving around in it must have been killing her, back then.

Her eyes shone suddenly, and she bit her lip.

"You still want to marry me?" she laughed, catching his eye.

He couldn't find the words to say, but finally, he managed –

"I never stopped."

She swallowed.

"I know this diner," she burst out, her voice firm and warm. "It's – it's this old diner, under a bridge – it's secluded and," she broke off. "Would you meet me there?" she asked finally.

He said yes – and he met her there, in an old diner in an old trailer car under a bridge out in Alexandria, and they ordered breakfast and coffee, and then lunch – and then for dinner, breakfast again, and she told him she was a senior at the University of Maryland, and she'd accepted what had happened and it was nobody's fault and she had started missing him and – she'd realized she didn't blame him, and she still wanted him – and he told her about sniper training school and his promotion, but mostly he listened and he realized, slowly, as it got darker outside and she taught him that powdered sugar was much sweeter on pancakes than syrup – he realized that they were back on track, and it felt like they were back in that red rag top again – and it was innocent.

* * *

Later in life, he sat at their graves – keeping a silent, grieving vigil over Shannon and Kelly on warm days and cold days alike – he sat there like he'd sat with Shannon on that old rag top, and he thought about his life and hers – and theirs together, and her fate, and on bad days he wondered if this was retribution; if they hadn't done what they'd done back then, she'd still be alive, and he'd have two kids, and a smaller house, and less money – and then on good days – if any were good – he had to accept that she was right: they never would have been happy if they had done it that way, and he'd never have known Kelly – and he knew there was no such thing as what might have been.

* * *

_"Well you do what you do_  
_and you pay for your sins_  
_and there's no such thing as what might've been."  
Tim McGraw; Red Rag Top_

* * *

_psh it was only a matter of time before I graced Shannon & Gibbs with my characteristic angst. _

_-alexandra_

_story #109_


End file.
